


got your back

by crimsonxflowers



Category: Boardwalk Empire
Genre: Dirty Talk, Established Relationship, Hand Jobs, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Size Difference
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-09
Updated: 2018-06-09
Packaged: 2019-05-19 22:48:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,300
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14882690
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crimsonxflowers/pseuds/crimsonxflowers
Summary: "You are... extremely distracting," Meyer says through gritted teeth, and Charlie—punishes? rewards?—the comment with a nip to Meyer's earlobe. Meyer jerks in surprise, a rush of heat flaring in his face at the bite."S'what you keep me around for, ain't it?" Charlie says, mock-surprise clear in his voice. "Gotta keep you on your toes."





	got your back

**Author's Note:**

> ...i don't have an excuse for this. it's pure id fic driven by my love for their height difference. i am unapologetic.

It's the middle of their day—which really means it's closer to evening, the last weak rays of sunlight filtering through the papered-over windows. But the front room is empty, all their regulars off playing the good family men, in their dining rooms uptown. It's a reliable enough gap in the action to get some balancing done, and Charlie inevitably ambles back into the office after he's finished cleaning up after the last round of gamblers.

Meyer glances up from where he's leaning against the office's desk, three ledgers sprawled out open across the desktop, palms planted firmly against the surface of the wood as numbers scrawl themselves into every corner of his mind they can reach. The ledgers will be burned before the week's out, and optimally they'll develop a system where nothing needs to be written down at all, even in the short term, but at the moment they're relying on Meyer's memory for that. It's more effort than it looks, and Meyer's torn between being grateful for the distraction Charlie inevitably presents and nipping the interruption to his memorization in the bud.

It's a moot point in very short order—Charlie takes the decision out of Meyer's hands, whether he knows that's what he's doing or not. "What's got you lookin' so tied up?" Charlie asks, coming up behind Meyer and stopping with his chest against Meyer's shoulder blades. That alone is enough to make all the gears turning in Meyer's head stutter to a stop, a reaction he doesn't entirely anticipate and can't prevent—the worst kind.

Charlie hooks his chin over Meyer's shoulder, either unaware of or deliberately ignoring the way every ounce of tension drains out of Meyer's chest and back, the way he has to curl his hands around the lip of the desk and dig his nails into the oak to keep from melting against Charlie's chest. It's  _mortifying_ , the way this is all it takes, how easily his body ignores what he  _wants_ it to do and does this instead.

He swallows, hard, and hopes Charlie doesn't notice any of it. It's a simple question, but all Meyer's previous focus has very abruptly fled, replaced with the way Charlie's presence at his back has made him flush with warmth. "Squaring our books for the month," he says, and to his own ears his voice sounds... passably steady, if not as unaffected as he'd like. "Which you'd know, if you ever bothered to do it yourself."

"Mhm," Charlie hums against his ear. Meyer would snap at him for asking a question he didn't care about the answer to, except Charlie  _somehow_ presses up even closer along Meyer's back. "How's that goin'?" Charlie's voice rumbles against Meyer's skin, low and pleased with himself—not unaware, then, god _dammit_ —and Meyer clenches his jaw, tries to get a grip before replying.

"I realize it may seem like the numbers just fall into place but it takes—" he cuts himself off with an embarrassingly-obvious inhale, thanks to Charlie's arm snaking around his waist. "—significant work to settle everything," he finishes, a little shakily.

Charlie pushes his face against Meyer's neck and it makes his breath hitch and, fuck, it's not  _fair_ that Charlie does this to him so easily. He hasn't even done anything, it's  _ludicrous_ , no matter how much Meyer's traitorous body reacts to the contrary. "Seem kinda distracted, Meyer," Charlie says, and Meyer can feel him smile against his skin.

Angry, embarrassed heat flares in his chest as he tries to straighten up and shake Charlie off. Arousal or not, he's not going to stand here while Charlie gets a laugh out of reactions Meyer can't control. "Yes, I'm sure it's very funny to you, but if you'll excuse me I have more work—"

"No, hey," the arm around Meyer's waist tightens, but it's Charlie's free hand covering his against the desk that makes Meyer go still. The touch is tentative, Charlie's hand light atop Meyer's—reassurance, not restraint, and that's the only thing that keeps Charlie from getting a sharp elbow to the ribs. "S'not funny, I swear." Charlie presses his lips to the bare skin above Meyer's collar, and Meyer's not so easily convinced, still feels exposed and uncomfortably out of his own control, but he shudders despite himself. "I like it. Like how easy you fit here."

The words, paired with the feeling of Charlie's lips brushing against his neck, send flickers of heat bolting down Meyer's spine. He clears his throat, shifted off kilter, and tries to steady himself. "Well. Regardless, unless you'd prefer Frank's buy-out fund come from your pocket directly, the books need to be done."

"Not stoppin' you," Charlie says, arm still wound around Meyer's waist, voice smug, and through the warmth rapidly overriding everything else in his head, Meyer rolls his eyes. If Charlie wants to be clingy, fine—Meyer's not some fourteen year old completely out of his own control, he's used to ignoring his body's reaction to  _inconveniences_ when there's work to be done. He makes it through about a line and a half of winnings and expenses before Charlie's lips are against his skin. Another two lines, and Charlie's fingers have tucked beneath the edge of his waistcoat. Meyer makes it another line further before Charlie's sucking at the skin just below his ear, and—fuck's  _sake_.

He exhales, hard, the numbers in front of him blurring away to nothing as Charlie pulls him tighter against his chest. "You are... extremely distracting," he says through gritted teeth, and Charlie—punishes? rewards?—the comment with a nip to Meyer's earlobe. Meyer jerks in surprise, a new rush of heat flaring in his face at the bite.

"S'what you keep me around for, ain't it?" Charlie says, mock-surprise clear in his voice. "Gotta keep you on your toes." His hand snakes up Meyer's chest, and he tugs the knot of Meyer's tie down enough to get at the button of his collar. "Y'don't really wanna work on squarin' the books instead, do ya?"

"Someone has to do it," Meyer says, less emphatic than he'd like as Charlie pops open his collar buttons. He shudders as the pads of Charlie's fingers brush over his pulse point; his other hand is still lightly trapped beneath Charlie's against the desk, and Charlie's thumb strokes against his at the same pace. Both motions are... equally distracting. "I don't see you picking up a pen."

"That ain't a yes," Charlie replies, smug, and tugs Meyer's collar open wider, pressing a sucking kiss to the exposed skin stretched tight over Meyer's collarbone. "You're allowed to enjoy yourself once in a while," he says, voice quiet and abruptly serious against Meyer's skin. "Won't kill you."

 _It very much might_ , he thinks through the spinning in his head, but Charlie would take it as a compliment and be that much more self-satisfied. One of Charlie's thighs slides between Meyer's, and it takes a truly Herculean effort to stop himself from rolling his hips down to get some friction—as much as he'd like to deny it, he's been getting hard since Charlie's arm slid around his waist. "Anyone could walk in, Charlie," he manages to get out, head tilting to the side despite his words as Charlie spreads a line of kisses along the column of his throat.

"Nope," Charlie says, hand dropping to press against Meyer's fly. "Sent Benny to the deli on 7th to pick up dinner. Locked the door behind him." He palms Meyer's cock, and Meyer has to swallow a groan. "Gotta take care of the basics, 'specially when you're workin' late."

Meyer makes a noise that could charitably be called a laugh, if he wasn't choking on the moan bubbling out of his throat as Charlie strokes him over the fabric. "Is  _that_ what's happening here?" he murmurs, hips nudging forward against Charlie's palm despite himself.

Satisfaction rumbles in Charlie's chest—Meyer can feel it, Charlie's still pressed so close against him,  _fuck_ —and he doesn't waste any time undoing the buttons of Meyer's fly, one-handed, movements smooth like he's practiced it, the prick. "Someone's gotta do it," he says, smug, fucking insufferable, turning Meyer's perfectly sound reasoning against him, and laces their fingers together against the desktop as he curls his other hand around Meyer's cock.

The grain of the wood catches against Meyer's nails, fingers curling involuntarily as Charlie strokes him, and he turns his head just enough to press his cheek against Charlie's jaw. Meyer shudders as Charlie's hand moves in counterpoint to the light presses of Charlie's lips, against Meyer's brow, his cheek, his neck. "We do have—a game starting soon," he murmurs faintly, stumbling minutely over the words as Charlie scrapes his teeth against the tendon of Meyer's throat and makes Meyer shiver under him. It's a token protest at best, no real heat to it anymore; Charlie's chest against his back is a solid wall of warmth, enveloping without making him feel trapped, which is a novelty in and of itself. All Meyer can do is shudder at the feeling, frivolous and indulgent an enjoyment as it is.

Charlie hums again, picking up the pace of his strokes, and Meyer can't stop himself from rolling his hips against Charlie's grasp. "Better be quick about it then, huh?" He grins against Meyer's throat, teeth pressing against skin, but instead of biting down he drops another light kiss against Meyer's skin and keeps fucking  _talking_. "I'd take it slow if I could. Wanna curl up with you in bed, press you into my sheets. Make you feel so good you can't even think, no numbers, no books, no nothin'. Take you apart for hours, curled up around you like this."

He can't stop the way his body reacts to that, precome slicking Charlie's already wet palm, no matter how embarrassing the reaction, no matter how embarrassing it is that Meyer  _wants_ it. And he does. He wants Charlie pressed against his back, just like this, for as long as he can have it, wants to not think about anything but Charlie, a feat he barely believes approachable, much less possible... Charlie makes him want everything, makes him want to let go, even if just for a little while, and it's  _overwhelming_. "You couldn't make it hours," he huffs, a weak attempt at salvaging some degree of composure, and immediately regrets it when Charlie's strokes slow to a torturous drag.

"Mmm, feel like puttin' money on that?" The noise Meyer makes in reply is _not_ a whine. He refuses to let it be a whine. "I'm feelin' a little underestimated here, Meyer," Charlie continues, the slow stroke of his hand gradually speeding back up til Meyer can't help but rock his hips in time with Charlie's hand. Charlie brushes his thumb over the head of Meyer's cock, wrist twisting as his hand keeps moving. "I'd take forever makin' you feel good. Could listen to you for days, Mey."

Meyer's beyond words embarrassingly quickly, and Charlie's just pushing him closer to the edge with his own, so Meyer reaches back, blindly, with the hand not captured beneath Charlie's, and tangles his fingers in Charlie's curls. He feels more than hears the noise Charlie makes at that, and Meyer tilts his head until Charlie kisses him, a little messily, another noise rumbling against Meyer's back as he tugs at Charlie's lip with his teeth.

There's nothing on earth that will make him beg, not even for this, but Charlie never needs to hear Meyer's thoughts out loud to somehow know them anyway, and the way Meyer is teetering on the edge of release is apparently no exception. Charlie pulls away from the kiss only to bury his face in Meyer's throat, teeth sinking into the juncture of his shoulder as Charlie's hand speeds up just that little bit more around Meyer's cock. Meyer's fingers spasm in Charlie's hair, and he gasps as he comes, eyes screwed shut against the orgasm rolling through him.

The fog in Meyer's head clears slowly, almost embarrassingly so, and Charlie stays pressed against him the whole time. It's comfortable, and Meyer'd stay there longer if there wasn't a game to run, so he squeezes Charlie's fingers, still interlaced with his own against the desk, before straightening himself up. Charlie presses one more kiss to Meyer's shoulder, then steps back as Meyer turns around in his arms to kiss him properly. Meyer rests his hands on Charlie's waist, fingers inching below Charlie's suspenders—but Charlie hums against his mouth and slurs out, "m'good, Mey." Meyer leans back, brow furrowed—Charlie was hard behind him, he knows he was, and he'd have felt it if Charlie'd—but Charlie just shrugs. "Next game soon. I can wait 'til later."

"...You can wait until later." Meyer repeats, flat and disbelieving, and Charlie grins at him, incongruous for the topic.

"I can be patient too, Meyer."

"Since when?" Meyer snorts, but Charlie just smirks in response and leans down to kiss him again.

"Just wanted to make you feel good, Mey. Looked like you needed it," he says quietly, and Meyer blinks, caught off guard and unsure how to react to that. "'Sides," Charlie continues, before Meyer can say anything in response, "stay at mine tonight?" he asks, pressing his face against the top of Meyer's head.

All Meyer can do is nod, relaxed against Charlie's chest—not that that stops him from feeling it when Charlie grins into his hair.

"Good. So... I can wait," he says, a low warmth in his voice, and Meyer shudders as Charlie's palms spread open over his shoulder blades. There's really no response to that except to press up and kiss him again, so that's what Meyer does.

**Author's Note:**

> i live for comments, or come talk to me about gangsters in love on [tumblr!](http://meyerlansky.tumblr.com/)


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